


Unhappy Place

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Gang Rape, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slight Forced Pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bede should have taken his anonymous admirers more seriously.
Relationships: Beet | Bede/Mob
Comments: 27
Kudos: 142





	Unhappy Place

Bede never thought it would come to this.

He’d never taken any of the letters seriously, most of them landing in the trash before he’d so much as considered taking a peek. He used to read them at first, until the weird ones started arriving with more and more frequency.

At first it had been… manageable. Just the occasional explicit letter than had made Bede uncomfortable, but never _worried_. They’d been strange, but he assumed all the gym leaders got them. They made such public spectacles of themselves it was only a matter of time.

Then the gifts had started. Small trinkets at first, jewelry and pokemon accessories.

Bede had stopped opening the packages the first time he got a carefully wrapped vial of viscous white fluid.

After that, everything had gone straight into the garbage, Bede refusing to think about any of it any longer.

If only that had been the end of it.

He stills remembers the day he’d come home to find a small giftwrapped box sitting innocuously on his doorstep. No address, return or otherwise, nothing but his name in carefully printed letters. Someone had to have put it there, someone had to have been there – known where he _lived_ – and Bede still remembers the nausea that had rolled through him with such force it’s a wonder he hadn’t collapsed right there.

He should have reported it – should have gone to the authorities the moment that package had showed up. Instead he’d taken it inside, opened it carefully to reveal a baby pink ball-gag that Bede had promptly thrown away in horror.

Maybe if he’d been more proactive, taken it for the threat that it so clearly was, he wouldn’t be here now, bound and blindfolded, drooling around the round plastic in his mouth. His vision is dark, but Bede has a feeling he knows the exact color of the offending plastic he’s currently forced to tongue at. 

He tests the give of the restraints again, but they hold firm. The rope chafes heavily but Bede gives up his struggle when it proves futile. 

He tries to take stock of what he can: cold floor, headache, sharp pain in his right shoulder. But most of all, he is painfully aware of his nakedness.

He can hear chatter distantly, a low murmur of voices that Bede can’t make out. He wants to cry for help, but when he tries it, he’s almost surprised at how much of his voice is muffled around the gag.

Whatever he noise he does make only succeeds in silencing the voices.

A door creaks open.

“You’re awake!” A man’s voice, deep and affectionate. It makes Bede shuffle backwards, spine coming into contact with an equally cold wall. He’d been scared before, but it feels like nothing in the face of the all-consuming terror that crashes through him.

These people are not here to save him.

“Sorry we had to undress you right away,” someone else explains. Bede’s heart leaps into his throat as he identifies three sets of footsteps closing in. “You struggled so much you tore your clothes!”

Oh god.

It’s happening. He really is – they really have –

“Cat got your tongue?” They’re closer now, crowding in around him. Bede can almost feel them standing over him, air shifting to accommodate three more bodies in the room.

“Oh, silly me!” Someone snorts and Bede’s panic only ratchets up higher. “We gagged him!”

The tittering laughter that follows makes Bede feel like he’s going to throw up. He holds it down by the skin of his teeth, thinking only of the fact that it’ll have nowhere to go if it does come up.

A hand touches his shoulder and Bede flinches _violently_ , but just as soon as it’s there, five more join it, pressing him into the floor to hold him still.

Their touch feels like slime, coating him eroding at his skin through every point of contact. The hands are eager and hot, pawing at him and turning his head this way and that. No matter which was he jerks, there’s another one waiting, groping at the curve of his ass or the jut of his hip.

Bede’s never felt more exposed in his life, trembling and sweating as they explore him. He wants to cry, but he’s not entirely sure where that’ll get him at this point. Most of all, he wants to _run_.

A set of fingers trace his lips, sliding against the wet plastic and the plush curve of his mouth, testing for any gaps. But the gag fits tight, almost like it was made for him. He couldn’t open his mouth any wider if he tried. Bede tries to jerk away, but one hand holds him firm, forcing him still as he’s subjected to their idle explorations.

“Pink is such a pretty color on you…” The reverence in the man’s voice is enough to give Bede chills. His eyes sting with the well of tears, huddling into himself as another hand lands on his shoulder.

“It’s no fun if he can’t talk,” a different voice grumbles, and Bede feels another piece of him shatter. They want to hear him, of course they do.

“Alright, alright.”

They make quick work of the gag, unbuckling it with expert fingers and slipping it out of his mouth. Bede gasps the moment he’s freed, pulling in a deep lungful of air before _screaming_ for all he’s worth.

He’s expecting to be hit, told to shut up, _something_ – but no, they just let him scream. Let him yell until his throat is raw and horse and he feels, of all things, _tired_.

“You got it all out, darling?” Someone asks, faux-sweet and mocking. Bede understands now, that he’s nowhere anyone will hear him. He snaps his jaw shut with a click, sure that he’s just given them ample entertainment with his little display.

“That’s good. You’ve got a long night ahead of you, I’d save some of that energy if I was you.” Bede can almost hear the wink, feels a knuckle playfully knock at his jaw before he can turn his face to the side. Every touch alarms him, surprise after surprise while his eyes roll uselessly behind the blindfold.

“Feet too, I’d say.” Someone says, apropos of nothing. Bede doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but then he feels a set of thick fingers working at the knot binding his leg together and he has truly never wanted anything more in his life than to be kept bound.

He knows what being untied means.

The moment his legs are free, Bede scuttles backwards, knocking the back of his head against the wall as he turns blindly from side to side.

“Let me go,” the command is weak, lacks his usual posturing. It sounds exactly like what it is, a desperate plea for freedom. It’s answered with a touch at his stomach, feels sparked shoot up his spine as a calloused hand rubs at his bellybutton before dropping to fondle at his cock.

“Don’t _touch me!_ ” And he’s crying now, earnestly, tears leaking hot and wet right into the soft fabric of the blindfold. He kicks out, foot connecting with something hard and warm before it’s batted away. 

“Hold him,” a voice says. Bede’s stomach lurches painfully, two large hands encircling each of his ankles and spreading him. Putting him on display and in his place. He jerks at them, desperate to free himself, but these are grown men holding him here, fingers pressed tight enough to bruise.

He’s so repulsed – at these strangers, at himself – that he can’t stop shaking. He wants to curl in on himself, become small enough to disappear from this, all of it. The hand violating him only presses firmer, fondles at the growing bulge between his legs and Bede feels sick sick _sick_.

“ _Stop_! You can’t – You _can’t,_ ” Bede bursts out, shivering and terrified and exposed. His voice is tremulous, sounds young even to himself, hates how weak it feels.

“It’s okay,” another voice soothes, and Bede feels a hand settle hot and heavy on his chest, fingers immediately seeking out a pert nipple to tug at. “We’ll be gentle.”

Bede can’t stop his back from coming off the floor, chest rising as his other nipple is pulled at in turn. It _hurts_. It feels bad and wrong and filthy and –

“Sensitive, aren’t we?”

He’s not sensitive. He’s _not_. He wants to say as much, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a terrified noise full of anger and desperation, the word, “ _No_ …” on repeat in a quiet loop.

He gets a little laugh for that, someone leaning right up into his space to lick at the shell of his ear as the hand around him tightens appreciatively. “You’re saying no, sweetheart, but your body is so much more honest for me.”

Bede hates them. Hates them so much it feels like he could burst with it. He’s hard, gritting his teeth so tight he can hear his jaw creak. He won’t give them the satisfaction of thrusting up into the hand that’s stroking at him, however desperately his body wants to. 

And he can feel that too, despite how desperately he wishes he couldn’t. It feels like betrayal of the highest form, body caving to the attention when it should be his last stronghold against harm.

He’s glad now for the blindfold, if only to stop himself from seeing the expression on the faces of his attackers as they croon these words at him.

“ _Please_.” Bede begs, finally cracking as his voice goes high with fear. “ _Please._ You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh sweetheart.” There’s a hand stroking at his face, touch gentle as someone presses a kiss to his temple. “Of course we do.”

Bede flinches, feels a fresh wave of sobs wrack his body as something large and firm nudges against his entrance. The teasing rub of it is the worst kind of torture, and he lays suspended like that for what feels like hours before his assailant finally forces himself into his body.

Bede _screams_ , but there’s a hand on his mouth, pressing his voice right back into his chest, holding him together when it feels like he’s about to break apart.

The pain is explosive, worse than anything Bede’s ever experienced in his life. It feels like he’s being torn in half, and his screams echo deep in his chest, rattling around with no escape.

They’re saying things, but Bede can’t make them out anymore, can only grit his teeth and dig his nails into the meat of his palm hard enough to draw blood. But even that pain can’t distract from the fire he feels between his legs.

There’s hands petting him all over, smoothing down his chest, pulling at his cock, but Bede feels numb to them, numb to everything but the pain of having something hot and thick sliding in and out of him with increasing frenzy.

He feels the intrusion right down to the very core of him, tainting him from within and radiating pain. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing kind or loving. Nothing like the way Bede fancied his first time might go with someone he cared about.

This is cruel and punishing. Every thrust rocks into him like a jackhammer, forcing coherent thought out of him as he sinks into a miasma of pain. He can hear something in the distance, a high keening sound he’s never heard before. It takes him a few moments to realize it’s him. Bede didn’t think he could make a sound like that, like an animal caught in a trap – small and defenceless and in pain.

He wishes they would all stop touching him now, wishes they would fuck him without stroking at his skin, rubbing at his erection. He doesn’t want to be soothed right now, doesn’t want any of this to feel any less horrible.

In a way, the pain is _right_. It means his body is working properly, means this is a violation, something he shouldn’t want.

But the hands make it hard to focus on that. They’re a stark contrast to the searing pain, cupping his chest and smoothing his hair back from his forehead. If he’s not careful, he’ll get lost in those too, and Bede would rather be trapped in the pain than whatever they’re trying to turn it into.

Bede feels his mind flicker, going feverish as his skin dampens with sweat. The pain is… cresting. Perhaps it already has crested. There’s a numb heat spreading out from his center, pouring into every inch of him bit by bit.

It makes it easier. Easier to ignore the wet squelch of his own hole, or the slap of balls against his ass. If he focuses on the heat, he can tune it all out, let himself float up and up until he’s not here anymore. Until he can find someplace else to be until this is over.


End file.
